The Lucifer Match
by Tazlet
Summary: After the last episode it's a given that Lucifer and Dan would have things to talk about, and to do.
**The Lucifer Match
** by Taz

The air conditioning in the holding area was going full blast but whatever lavender scented cleaner they mopped the floors with might put up a good fight with the reek of vomit and urine but would have been better marketed as Headache-In-A-Jug.

Dan pressed the palms of his hands against his temples. They said confession was good for the soul but it was bitch for everything else. Since turning himself in yesterday he had been shut up first in an interrogation room and then hustled into a holding cell, but no one seemed interested in taking a statement, much less charging him with stealing evidence and planting it to implicate an innocent man in a homicide.

Innocent man? Ha! That was a laugh. Innocent was the last thing Lucifer Morningstar was. And speaking of...

Where was Chloe?

Except for a cup of black coffee and a stale American cheese on white bread that Hernandez had brought him at around 2 a.m., no one seemed to be invested in his well-being.

And, as if in response to the thought, there was Hernandez with the key in her hand and a clipboard under her arm. "Monroe says you can go." She unlocked the door and opened it wide.

"What?"

"Your lawyer's here," she said, as if it were self-evident. There was a soft, dreamy look on her face.

"My lawyer?" It took a moment for Dan to realize that one of the shadows in the hall behind her was tall man in a black suit. Dan recognized him from yesterday. Morningstar's brother.

"Detective Espinoza, I'm Joshua Canaan. Mr. Morningstar hired me to act on your behalf."

"Nice of him, but I don't…." He stood up too quickly. "I don't need…"

"Trust me, you do…" Suddenly Canaan was there, supporting him. Dan looked up into molten dark eyes. Morningstar's eyes. They had that much in common at least. There was something else about the man—it was tickling the back of his mind—but a thought that said it wasn't important intruded. "Let me give you a hand."

"Sign this first," Hernandez handed him the clipboard and a Bic. "Pick up your shield and weapon from Bailey on your way out."

"Thanks Min." He signed, aware of the continued pressure, the power in the unrelenting grip on his elbow.

"Mr. Morningstar is waiting to give you a ride home."

"Oh, yeah. All right." He let himself be guided, stopping to pick an envelope with his things in it on the way out, and signing more forms.

"Over here." Canaan shepherded him across the lot to where a black corvette, top down, engine idling, sat waiting in a marked zone.

Lucifer Morningstar stood leaning against it, smoking, and, as Canaan opened the passenger door he said, "Is that it?"

"That's it." Canaan transferred pressure from Dan's elbow to his shoulder. In response Dan folded into the passenger seat. "I'll call you tomorrow, Luci."

"Looking forward to the conversation." Morningstar flicked his butt into the gutter and slipped into the driver's side.

"What's going on?" Dan tried to ask, but the words were blown out of his mouth as the car was slammed into gear and shot into the morning traffic on the Alameda.

"I said…" Dan started to yell, and then thought better of it. With the top down he would have had to project over the street noise. It was too much effort and this was not the time to take Morningstar's attention off the road as he insinuated them into a gap between a car on the left and the car in front of them, missing both by inches, and zooming ahead. Dan closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch as they changed lanes again.

The acceleration pressed him against the seat and the wind felt like ice. Beside him he could feel Morningstar radiating warmth like a summer's day. Unconsciously, he leaned toward it; the throbbing in his head seemed to ease.

Twenty minutes later, the corvette made a left turn, then zigged and came to a halt. As the engine died, Dan opened his eyes and looked up.

"This isn't my building."

"Thank you Captain Obvious. I thought you could use a drink." Morningstar got out. "We need to talk."

There was nothing for Dan to do but follow him inside, across the lobby and up the elevator. Maybe a drink wasn't the best idea, but at the moment it was an appealing one.

Once inside the apartment, though, the saw that the distinctive wet bar, with its mirrored back wall and ceiling, that had been the eye-catching focus of Morningstar's living room, in a let-tell-everything-you-need-to-know-about-this-guy sort of way had been wrecked. The tempered glass shelves that had been lined with extraordinarily expensive bottles of liquor were gone, and the mirrored back… Dan went closer to inspect it. From the spider web of cracks that radiated from a single point of impact, something large had been thrown at it hard.

All he could say was, "Good Lord!"

"Don't start," Morningstar said.

"What happened?"

"My brother and I had a bit of a tiff." Morningstar reached under the counter and pulled out two glasses. There were cardboard boxes stacked on the floor behind the bar. Dan could see them reflected in the ceiling. "I'm promised it will be repaired by Thursday. In the meantime..."

There was only a single bottle sitting on the counter and Morningstar twisted the top off of it.

"I'd rather—"

"It wasn't a question."

Morningstar poured each glass a third full of dark amber liquid and handed one to Dan.

"That's fifty years old. Don't guzzle it."

Dan took a spiteful gulp and paid for it immediately. Morningstar looked amused. "I said don't guzzle."

"Oh, fuck you!" Dan's voice was ragged. "What isn't anyone telling me?"

"That Malcolm's dead." Morningstar sighed. "And that Chloe shot him. Bang, bang, bang. In the chest. Nicely clustered. You should be proud."

Scotch spilled over Dan's wrist. "Is she…?"

"She's fine."

Dan got his hand under control. "What happened?" He was careful to take a smaller sip of the scotch.

"She told Lieutenant Monroe it was to save my life."

"I wish I could say I was sorry."

"I was already dead."

Dan looked up. "What are you talking about?"

"He kidnapped Trixie and forced Chloe to bring him the money."

"Oh, my God!"

Fifty year old scotch went everywhere and the glass flew out of his hand, as Dan turned for the door. Morningstar caught him, jerked him around, took the front of his shirt and shook him like a ragdoll.

"Dammit! I'm still finding splinters."

"Let me go!"

"Stop it! They're safe!"

"I have to go!"

Dan tensed to take a chance at the door again.

"Listen to me." They were chest to chest but Morningstar's height gave him the advantage as he twisted the bunched fabric of Dan's shirt and lifted him off the floor. "Are you listening?"

"Yes," Dan gasped.

"They're safe! They're home! Go over and beat your chest later. Right now, let them rest."

"It's my fault."

"Yes, well… You didn't leave him much of a choice, did you? Throwing yourself on your sword, in the finest style of high romance. Don't think I wasn't impressed—I was. But as far as whose fault…

"Did I thank you? I should have thanked you?"

"You told me you didn't think I had the stones," Dan said. "Are you going to let go?"

Morningstar's grip had eased, but it still tight, not to mention too close for comfort. And the look on his face was…strange.

"Trust me, there's more than enough blame to go around... Yours. My brother's. Mostly my brother's. And Malcolm wife's made a statement. He threatened to kill her. It was really a question of who was going to nail him first." Morningstar looked into Dan's eyes but whatever Morningstar was seeing was far away and terrible. "Almost winged Mazy," he whispered. "Maze won't hold it against her. You see Malcolm forgot, if he ever understood it, that the female of the species is far more deadly than the male."

There was something in his voice that made the hairs on the nape of Dan's neck stand up and not for the first time, he wanted to yell _What are you talking about?_

Then, in a blink, Morningstar was back, here and now, all present and accounted for. Maybe. Something was highly amusing. His eyes glittered like garnets, and his smile was an invitation to a punch in the face. He released Dan's shirt front, and began to tidy it up. He smoothed the front, and ran his hands down Dan's arms.

"Name your own deity, Detective, but you're so cold!"

He raised Dan's hand to his mouth and licking the scotch stains on his skin. His tongue was rough as a cat's and burned.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dan said.

"That was the last bottle of the Last Drop, and you're right here, loaded and primed. Waste not, want not."

Dan couldn't move. Morningstar leaned in and wrapped his arms around him. Dan did start to protest then, but Morningstar's tongue snaked between his teeth before he could even say stop. Don't…! You know how that goes, the voice of his conscience snickered, and then faded into sensation. Rasping and stroking tongue against tongue—hot, sulfurous, delicious—a fire raced along Dan's nerves, a lit fuse and, suddenly, he was exploding like a Catherine Wheel, crying out, and thrusting hip to hip.

It went on for an eternity. The tongue filling his mouth was endlessly tantalizing, drawing softer more exquisite bursts from him, but the pulsing ended only when he was blacking out, and suddenly found himself gasping and panting into Morningstar's neck. Morningstar's hands were running up and down his back. With nothing to occupy his mouth, it wasn't long before he started talking again.

"I didn't realize how long I've wanting to do that. Should never ignore half your options."

"Huh!" was all Dan could manage.

There was a little shifting; an adjustment of balance, his head fell back into the cradle of Morningstar's hand.

"What? Was it good for you, too?"

Dan wanted to say that what he'd meant was that he wasn't one of Morningstar's options, but he too used up. The only reason he was still on his feet was because of the arms around his waist. Dan yawned in Morningstar's face.

Morningstar seemed to get that, at least.

"You know, for a man who just had a profound religious experience; I would have expected something more… Well, profound."

"Profoundly tired." Dan yawned again. "An' sticky."

"We can do it again, when you've had a shower."

"…freeze over first."

"Unlikely."

Morningstar's brow contracted and for a moment Dan pictured a body flying into a mirrored wall. Then he realized that Morningstar had picked him up and he was being carried. He put his head down and let himself be carried. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was,

"Don't worry the bed is big enough for five."

A fact he was able to verify when he began to wake a few hours later. He found himself snuggled into the unbelievable softness and warmth of a feather-bed. It was like a nest. He reached out, feeling the polished cotton and fingers interlaced with his. He might have fallen asleep again, if he hadn't remembered whose fingers they were.


End file.
